


Where We Trip The Light

by clockworkrobots



Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-23
Updated: 2012-04-23
Packaged: 2017-11-04 04:17:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/389655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clockworkrobots/pseuds/clockworkrobots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The first time Castiel and Dean met, it was on the playground.</i>
</p>
<p> <i>The first time they met as sigilsnswords and impala67, it was on the Teen Wolf kink meme.</i></p>
<p> </p>
<p>A Dean/Cas HS!AU by way of Derek/Stiles, where Dean and Castiel are RP partners with a little too much enthusiasm. (knowledge of Teen Wolf not necessary, although encouraged!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where We Trip The Light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wondersmith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wondersmith/gifts).



> A very silly idea for a fic that quickly got away from me. 
> 
> For my darling Iva, for her birthday. Beta'd by my ever-lovely friend Jay.

  
The first time they met as Castiel Milton and Dean Winchester, they were all of 8 years old. The Winchesters had moved into town from somewhere-or-ever, with two bright young sons to their name (and enough attitude in the eldest for both of them), although little else, and Dean, for his own part, had moved straight into Castiel's life with a bang.

Literally.

The first time Castiel saw Dean, skinny and barely blonde—brown roots already creeping in—Dean had fallen down face down out of a tree he'd been attempting to climb in the park. Castiel—Cas, quickly dubbed by Dean—helped the boy up, and that, as they say, was that. Somehow, in the course of frequent after-school park meetings, where Castiel would often like to come and sit and draw on the benches to escape the dreary stuffiness of home life, they struck up a slow but steady friendship.

They met as children often do, friendly and open—and drifted as teenagers did, strained by social pressure and the curious, inexplicable distance of lunchroom politics. At 18 years old and on the cusp of adulthood for both of them, they could safely say they hadn't had more than a two word conversation in 6 years. And, if you asked either of them, neither could fathom exactly why.

The first time Castiel and Dean met, it was on the playground.

The first time they met as sigilsnswords and impala67, it was on the Teen Wolf kink meme.

What started off as shy and short smutty exchanges under the cover of anonymity on the livejournal comments sections quickly evolved into un-anoning and friend-requests, and together, armed with the enviable double threat of skills in both fanart and fanfic, sigilsnswords and impala67 emerged in the small fandom of a stupid, small MTV show with a bang.

Or rather, in fandom parlance, a _big_ bang.

When sigilsnswords, acclaimed and famed artist of the Derek/Stiles persuasion, was paired with impala67, author of such notable ship staples as “Wolf's Bane” (“ _It turns out a werewolf's mating period works something like pon farr. And much to Stiles' surprise and advantage, Derek's 7 years are up. Unrepentant pwp._ ”) and “This Side of Nowhere” (“ _Derek is a vagabond motorcyclist with a mysterious past, who breezes into town one summer and offers Stiles the opportunity to run away with him. Stiles could do with a little mystery and motorcycles, and the strange but alluring man on top of it all certainly made the deal. The great American roadtrip turns out rather different than he expected, but there is no denying it ends up being the adventure of a lifetime._ ), the internet collectively rejoiced.

When “A Heart Arcane,” an AU set in medieval Ireland (“ _Stiles is an apprentice monk at rural and removed monastery off the Antrim coast. One dark and stormy night, a man, beaten and bloody, appears unconscious at their gates. What dark secrets does this man hold, and what questions? What will the answers come to reveal about Stiles himself?_ ”), was finally published, it didn't take long for it to sweep its way through reclists of every kind. It also didn't take long for the two boys' creative partnership to cement itself into something rather more... reservation free.

They didn't think much of it at the time—and not knowing each other's real names seemed of little consequence—it only seemed like a natural progression of their online relationship, then, through their private messages on lj and asks sent from their tumblrs, for one of them to propose that they should RP.

 

***

 

_Derek growled as he scraped his mouth along Stiles' neck, all teeth and heat, and Stiles couldn't suppress the wrecked moan that escaped his mouth as his body shuddered from Derek's touch._

“ _You're_ mine _,” Derek gritted out in between vicious nips at Stiles' jaw. “And when I'm finally inside you, you'll know that no one else could ever be—fill you up as I could—”_

Dean bit back his own stifled moan as he read his latest ask, and shifted slightly in his seat to alleviate a growing tension in his pants. This guy played _well_ ( _and dirty in more than one sense of the word_ , Dean thought wryly), and Dean could almost imagine sigilsnswords on his own computer, typing away about Derek and Stiles fucking all the while imagining him instead... but no. It was a silly fantasy. Dean didn't even _know_ the guy on the other end of this, if it _was_ a guy, or if he even _swung_ that way. For someone he's exchanged an almost innumerable amount of emails by this point with, he knows startlingly little about the person behind that familiar 100x100 pixel icon.

“Right,” he sighed to no one, and began to type.

 

***

 

_Stiles grappled for purchase at Derek's bare hip, rutting his groin up against Derek's thigh, and thrusting up for friction. “Yeah, yeah, you talk big, don't you?” he teased as he cupped Derek's cheek and placed a feverous kiss upon his lips. “Less tell, more show, please,” he whispered tauntingly into the man's ear, and groped Derek's ass as he brought their cocks together._

“Oh _god_ ,” Castiel garbled out.

This was the first sex scene he had ever role played, and it certainly was an experience to say the least. Obviously, he had read porn before, not to mention _all_ of impala67's more NC-17 stuff (he was a fan, so sue him), but writing it between them as if it were actually _happening_ in live time... It's a good thing his lights were off, or the evidence of his flushed face would surely give him away.

It wasn't like Castiel really had an outlet for this outside of the enclosed sanctuary of his bedroom. His parents were wholly unoriginal enough to shirk the middle-class Christian stereotype of intolerance, and school was _—_ well, school was school, and kids were kids, and Castiel had had enough off being on the brutal end of taunts when he was younger, a scrawny, silent boy, always hanging around with Dean (Dean with the freckle sprinkled nose and deep green eyes and laugh too precious to be forgotten _—_ and that there was a _whole other_ issue, wasn't it?), to know how to play his cards right by now in public.

But here, between them, it was _good_ , it was _easy_ , and Castiel could hardly be embarrassed he should be turned on by this, right? He could almost picture impala67 too, breathing a little too hard, unzipping his fly, what if _—_

“Oh god, I'm fucked,” Castiel whispered resignedly to his darkened room.

_Ah, if only to be literally_ , his traitorous consciousness fired back.

 

***

 

Though in the great corner of Teen Wolf fandom Dean has certainly made a name for himself, in the real word, in the _out there_ , Dean really isn't much of anybody. Still considered the sketchy new kid, even after _years_ of being at this school and with these people, Dean is a little bit of an outcast. It's an image he's crafted pretty well for himself, truth be told _—_ it's not like he wants anything to do with _them_ anyway, he thinks bitterly, those who are happy to see him as Dean would project, or _him_.

If Dean's honest with himself _—_ and he rarely is _—_ he never really got over that boy with the blue eyes and blackened, unruly hair, who found him lying in the grass one summer and brought him to his feet. He never quite got over Castiel's quite countenance, or his intense stare, or his fine fingers _—_ artists' fingers _—_ long and lean, always with a pencil in hand.

Cas got over him quickly enough though, so it seems, content to be absorbed within the high school population's elite. Fucking dicks, the lot of them. But, you know, if Dean imagines Cas' hands as he jerks off to the words of a stranger, well, it's only for realism's sake.

 

_***_

 

When it all came crashing down, perhaps in hind sight neither of them should have been surprised. Something about fate and the placement of the planets probably, decreeing that of _course_ the object of each other’s' fantasies and what might be (although they might by shy to admit) unrequited love turn out to be, well, _each other_.

Not so unrequited, after all, it would turn out.

It happened on a Thursday. In fact, Dean might not have noticed it in the first place if he hadn't been spying on Castiel in the library last period (in which they both had as a spare, and it wasn't telling at _all_ that Dean knew Cas' schedule—shut up) a little too intently (the guy had an _admirable_ figure okay, he just liked to _look—_ and if Dean had to suppress a soft groan when Castiel would absently pass a hand through his already ruffled hair, well, patron of the library, be glad he suppressed it at all). He didn't _mean_ to look over the guy's shoulder when grabbing a book on the bookshelf next to him, but he did, and in the middle of Castiel's macbook screen was his and sigilsnswords' RP pulled up.

Dean froze. The book in his hand teetered precariously on the edge of the shelf it hadn't been quite pulled off of, and soon thudded loudly on the floor. Castiel turned around abruptly, schooling his face to reign in reaction, but eyes growing with alarm.

“Umm, sorry,” Dean said a little uselessly, still glued to the spot.

“Dean,” Cas said, in that low, raspy rumble of a voice he'd broken into recently, far flung from the high squeaky voice Dean had been used to. Good god, how does that _work?_ It should probably be _illegal_ for a voice to go that low, that low and that _velvety—_

“Dean, can I help you...?” Cas asks a little awkwardly, and Dean notices he's already turned the light on his screen off to conceal his work. _Their_ work, really, and Dean was _still not over that_.

He clears his throat. “I, uh, hey Castiel—Cas. How are you?” _Great, excellent opener Winchester_ , he chastises himself. Shifting nervously he bends down to pick up the book he'd almost forgotten on the floor, only to straighten back up to find Cas staring at him questioningly, head cocked in that bird-like way of his, and Christ, Dean _missed_ that.

“Good,” he replies back a little confusedly, which is not altogether unexpected; Dean hasn't even tried to talk to him in _years_. “Dean, what is this about?” he says, straight to business, as always, and his eyes flick back to his laptop, to which he's clearly anxious to get back to. Which, does that mean Dean is essentially cock-blocking _himself_ at this moment?

_Well, nothing like the truth is there?_ Dean thinks, for pretty much the first time in his life.

“Listen, I didn't mean to spy, that is, I uh, only saw it by accident I _swear_ , but were you just on tumblr right now?” Dean spits out quickly, and Cas' eyes grow guarded instantly, opening his mouth to either admonish Dean for prying or deny something vehemently, so Dean carries on before he can say anything. “And— _god_ , this is awkward—but I saw you were on a chat thing, and um. Yeah. Impala67? That's, um, that's me. Hi,” he smiles. Cas' mouth clamps instantly shut.

A moment of silence follows, and it might just be the most _excruciating_ silence of Dean's life. Castiel's face has been wiped to a blank mask of unreadable emotion, and Dean is just waiting for him to either laugh at him or punch him at this point, but he honestly has no clue which. Castiel looks around the library, and Dean thinks to himself, _oh god, he's counting potential witnesses_. Well he'd had a good run didn't he? Jacked off to internet porn, fallen in love with his former best friend, found out said best-friend was the author of the porn he'd jacked off to—you could say it'd been a good life. He'll leave his car to Sam. Cas can have his word docs. But before Dean can finish rattling off his will in his head, Castiel shuts his computer, places it in his backpack, stands up, and grips Dean's arm tightly.

“ _Come with me_ ,” he says quietly, but by the tone of voice it's the type of command no one would _dare_ disobey.

At first Dean thinks Cas is leading him outside just behind the school, but soon he finds himself beyond the back gate and onto the street, and it takes him longer to clue into the fact that _Cas is leading him to his house_ than it rightly should.

“Cas, wait,” Dean says, pulling back as they turn the corner from their school, coming onto a tree-lined residential street, and stops in the middle of the pavement.

Castiel stops as Dean does, and turns around to face him, face steeled a bit but eyes raw, as if in anticipation.

“Dean, this is...,” he pauses, as if searching for the right words. “I know we haven't talked face to face in too long a while—and I regret that now—but I don't know about you, I really, really don't want to have this conversation in public,” he eyes Dean with something like searching for approval. “My house is just down the street,” he offers.

“Yeah, I remember,” Dean only says back, and stepping around Cas to continue on, he leads the way.

 

_***_

 

They end up in Cas’ bedroom, and like Cas himself, it's almost like nothing has changed, except of course everything had. The bed was still in the same place, although sporting rather different sheets now (when Dean had last known him, Cas had been going through a superhero phase), but the walls were plastered with various posters of paintings and bands Dean didn't even care to know the name of (what was wrong with sticking with the classics, eh?). Dean also doesn't fail to notice the Teen Wolf poster at the head of his bed, and wonders idly how many people Cas _lets_ up here to see that. He wonders if he's been the first since Cas was 12 years old and invited a 12 year old Dean up here with him.

The sound of Cas shutting the door behind them pulls Dean out of his thoughts, and the turns around to find Cas leaning against his newly shut door with an indescribable expression on his face.

“You know,” Cas says softly after a few moments, eyes cast to the carpet, “I wonder if I always knew it was you, deep down. You never—you never left my thoughts, not really, even after all this time that I've been...” he trails off.

“A dick?” Dean supplies, because he _had_ been. Cas had been Dean's only friend in the world, besides his little brother Sam, and when Cas just _left_ , or disappeared behind the veil of his new fake friendships his family had pushed him into, Dean was left utterly alone.

“Yes,” Cas admits, a tone of sincere regret colouring his words. “I _knew_ it was wrong then, but I suppose I only _feel_ it was wrong now, to leave you like I did, to pretend you meant nothing, when really,” he raises his gaze to meet Dean's, and his eyes are startlingly, _achingly_ blue, and pierce into Dean like he's seeing his _soul,_ or something equally sappy but undeniably true, “you meant _everything_.”

Dean starts a little at that, anger rising. “Then why did you just _leave_ , Cas? For those assholes who didn't know _anything_ about you? You had to hide yourself from them,” he bites out, the _you never had to with me_ hanging unspoken but understood between them.

“I know, I _know_ that now. Dean, I—I made a grave mistake. I didn't think, I was young and trying to please my parents, trying to _fit in_ only because I knew I couldn't, but still couldn't _bare_ it like you always could. You were always the stronger one Dean,” he smiles kindly, admiration keenly evident in his face.

“So, what made you change your mind?”

“You,” Cas says simply. “I didn't _know_ it was you at the time of course, but fandom helped. Drawing helped,” he gestures a little absently at an open sketchbook on the desk beside Dean, where the open page displays a beautifully rendered male anatomy. “I never had to hide there, or with you, and it made me realise just how much I _had_ been hiding.”

Despite his resilient seething frustration rattling through his bones, Dean softens a bit at that, and stops the pacing he had taken up after Cas' first apology. He doesn't know if he can forgive Cas yet, but he’s never been one for heartlessness, and if anyone understands repression and regret, it's Dean.

“Well, you certainly didn't hide _anything_ with that RP, now, did you?” Dean asks, smiling suggestively, and Cas' eyes widen. He can see Dean's giving him an out, a chance to move on from this. They're not through with this conversation, and Cas doubts they will be _good_ for a while—even after 6 years he still knows Dean too well—but maybe, miraculously, they could be _okay_. It's a step.

But before he can say anything in reply, Dean's already stepping across the room into Cas' personal space, raising his hands to cup Castiel's cheeks, and kissing him soundly as Cas lets out a muffled squeak. Before the shock of what's just happened can entirely wear off, Dean's pulling back again, although hands never leaving their place. His friend's green eyes are smiling, and how could Cas have ever given that up? “Wanted to do that for a long time,” Dean says, and Cas suddenly realises Dean's a little short of breath, and he is as well.

“I've wanted _you_ to do that for a long time as well,” Castiel admits, voice even rougher than usual.

Dean's grin grows even wider. “Oh yeah? What about this?” It's a rhetorical question, because quickly he's back to kissing Cas with a renewed fervour, and Cas is newly responsive, pouring himself up into Dean's lips (oh god, those _lips_ ).

They make out like that for what seems like forever and no time at all at once, two friends standing in the middle of that familiar room, as it should have been all this while. Soon they stumble backwards, and the back of Dean's calves hit the side of Cas' bed. Unfazed by the obstacle, Dean pulls Cas back onto the bed with him, lips still locked together as he continues to hold Cas' face in place, although he hardly needs encouraging.

Flopping a little gracelessly onto the clean and crisp covers ( _won't be for long_ , Dean and Cas think simultaneously), Dean flips them over so that Cas is on his back, with Dean over him, grinding down a bit with his hips.

“Oh god, do you know how much I've imagined just this,” Castiel gasps a little raggedly.

Dean laughs breathlessly into the side of Cas' face. “Well then how about we put that imagination to good use? A little less tell and a little more show, Cas,” Dean smiles devilishly, trailing a hand down one of Cas' pale arms.

“Did you just quote _yourself_ to me?” Cas frowns, seemingly unimpressed, although his eyes dance in a shared mirth and _god_ , Dean just has to _kiss_ him again.

Castiel arches up into it, all tantalising tongues and flush, _impossible_ , full lips, and Dean says, “Christ, you're a bit debauched aren't you?” as he pulls back a bit in between breaths.

“I could be whatever you want. How do you feel about role play?” Cas asks cheekily as he slides a hand up Dean's now bare back to grip his left shoulder and pull Dean back down. Dean grins all the way through their next kiss.

And the rest, as they say, is history.

Or rather, in fandom parlance, Dean/Castiel OTP.


End file.
